


With You

by aloevera



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky is Triggered, F/M, Winter Soldier!Bucky, it was supposed to be angstier but..., violence mentioned (not super graphic but still descriptive)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 22:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloevera/pseuds/aloevera
Summary: Some idiot has triggered Bucky and the Winter Soldier is now roaming the halls of the Avenger's compound.





	With You

Flashes of red illuminate the eerily empty compound halls. The walkways, usually bustling with agents and Avengers alike, have been cleared along with any rooms that could house workers burning the midnight oil, and a hush has fallen over the never silent building. The ominous atmosphere sends shivers down the spines of those unlucky enough to still be in the building and it all feels a little surreal.

 

The extreme caution makes you feel silly, with doors sealed and weapons at the ready, but as you creep down a corridor still dressed in your pajamas armed only with the comm device in your ear, you can understand the caution.

 

Some idiot accidentally triggered Bucky.

 

Instead of the still somewhat reserved but ever-so charming Bucky Barnes you’ve been able to spend the past year with, it’s the Winter Soldier roaming the halls. The weaponized form HYDRA had brainwashed him to take is gripping his consciousness and setting him on the defensive as he searches for an out in the maze of the compound. He’s already taken down three of the agents sent in to sedate him and everyone knows that he’s not even close to giving up.

 

Once the third agent hit the ground, Steve was allowed to take over the operation as he saw fit. He didn’t want the team getting involved, didn’t want Bucky accidentally hurting any of his friends and torturing himself over it later, but Steve knew that you all were the best choices.

 

None of you are as inclined  as the agents to shoot first.

 

Your first priority is to make sure Bucky is okay, to make sure he hasn’t hurt himself or anyone else in the pursuit of freedom, but you find completing your mission to be a little difficult when you find Bucky first.

 

“Steve, I found him. He’s in the northwest corridor, by Bruce’s lab,” you whisper, aiming to only be loud enough for the comm to catch your words. But Bucky, with his enhanced abilities and keen sense of observation, hears you loud and clear.

 

As soon as you realize that he’s heard you, a knife is slicing through the air near your ear. You manage to remain steady, unwilling to show him fear, as you stand. The Winter Soldier turns to face you fully and your heart breaks as your eyes meet his. The Bucky that you’ve gotten to know is gone, the slight mischievous sparkle is no longer present in his eyes no matter how hard you search.

 

The only thing you find is death.

 

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on the pain that he must’ve gone through during his years with HYDRA as you wrench the knife from the wall and wedge it into the waistband of your pajama pants. “Come on, Bucky,” you plead as you settle into a fighting stance, “I don’t want to do this. I’m your friend.”

 

“You’re not my friend,” he grunts, his voice gruff. He steps forward, his eyes trained firmly on you as you counter his move and step to the side.

 

“But I am, Bucky. I’m your friend. I’ve been your friend for a year,” you inform him as watch him stomp across the room, “We eat breakfast together almost every morning and we watch movies on Fridays. We always order pizza from that place everyone else hates so we don’t have to share. I make you tea when you can’t sleep and you read to me when I can’t. Come on, Bucky. Please.”

 

Your rushed words make him falter, his pace slows and his eyes narrow in concentration. You can see from the look on his face that he wants to remember, that he’s trying to remember, but nothing is coming to him. And the frustration of not knowing, of being lost and unsure, angers him even further.

 

He snarls at you once more and rushes toward you, knife in hand and metal arm whirring. “You’re not my friend,” he screams as he lunges at you, the knife piercing through your shoulder and setting your nerves alight with pain.

 

The adrenaline kicks in as your back hits the ground and you know that your head hit the concrete hard enough to cause a concussion but you don’t feel it as you shift your weight and knee Bucky in the stomach. The plating of his combat gear softens the blow enough so that it doesn’t hurt him but it does knock him unsteady enough to allow you an out. You manage to slip out from under him and dart across the room before he can get back on his feet.

 

“Bucky,” you pant as you tug the knife free from your shoulder, “don’t do this. I’m not the enemy. I don’t want to fight you.”

 

Bucky doesn’t reply. Instead, he stomps across the room to where you stand and throws a punch with his flesh hand. You try to pretend that it’s just like sparring with him, you’re just training, as you dodge his blow and land one of your own to his jaw. He pauses for a moment, his breathing picking up, before he throws another punch that knocks you off your balance. It’s easy to pretend that this won’t have any real consequences but when his foot catches your ankle and you feel a snap, you’re harshly reminded that this isn’t sparring and he isn’t Bucky.

 

Not right now.

 

You can tell by the look on his face that he’s annoyed you’re not giving in, that you’re not lying down and letting him go, but you can’t let someone else, someone who might hurt him, find him before Steve gets to the two of you. So you tug the knife from your waistband and, with a whimpered apology, stab him in the thigh.

 

Bucky grunts at the act as if it’s a minor inconvenience but the look in his eyes tells you that he’s more than annoyed. He’s tired of you, of your weak attempt at fighting him, and he aims to end the charade. With his metal hand, he reaches out, grabs you by the throat, and hauls you to your feet. He holds you in front of him for a moment, his eyes trained on yours, before he lifts you off of the ground.

 

His fingers dig into the column of your throat and the air rushes from your body in a strangled gasp as you kick your feet, hoping to hit him, and scratch at his hand in an attempt to pry his fingers loose. He’s holding strong, his hand constricting against your skin, and you can’t help feeling that this is the end. The metal is cold against your fingertips and the edges of your vision are fading to black but you can still hear his voice. He’s muttering something in Russian, something that you don’t understand, but then you hear him mutter, “You’re not my friend,” and it sounds like he’s speaking to you from under water before the world is lost to you.

 

* * *

 

His words, the harsh reminder spoken by the Solider, are the first that ring in your head as consciousness returns to you. As you return to yourself, you find that every inch of your body is sore and you silently vow to never return from a mission with complaints about how much every part of your body aches. There’s a particular throbbing in your shoulder and your ankle and your throat feels as if it’s coated in sandpaper but you’re relieved that you can feel anything at all.

 

You were certain that your fight with Bucky, with the Soldier, was going to be the end of you.

 

But as the tickling of breath in your throat sets you into a coughing fit and alerts whoever’s keeping an eye on you that you’re awake, you’re not sure if you’re relieved or afraid of what’s going to come next.

 

“Drink this,” a soothing voice you instantly identify as Wanda through your haze commands quietly as you feel a straw press against your lips. 

 

Your eyes part just enough to make out her dark hair and worried eyes against the harsh white lights as you drink nearly the entire glass in one go. “Thanks,” you whisper, unsure of whether or not your voice is capable of anything else, as you shift in the bed.

 

“I’ll go get Doctor Cho,” she promises as she begins to move from the side of your bed, “we can talk once she tells me you’re okay.”

 

“Wait,” you call out, your voice raspy and your head suddenly pounding as you try to move, “is…?”

 

Wanda nods at your unasked question. “He’s okay. They got him back,” she informs you with a sigh as she returns to your bedside.

 

“Everyone?”

 

“Everyone is fine,” she promises, “you took the worst of it. The guards are alright and Steve managed to knock him out before he could get to anyone else.” She pauses for a moment before she hangs her head and releases a shaky breath. “We were all worried that you were dead.”

 

“I’m okay,” you assure her, “I’m fine.”

 

“I know,” she nods, “I’m going to get Doctor Cho. You should rest.”

 

Before she’s even fully out of the room, your eyes are slipping shut once more and you find yourself falling into a fitful sleep as a scene not unlike the night’s events replays in your mind.

 

_His eyes are dark, cold, as they rake over your form. It’s the first time he’s taken his eyes off of Steve and it’s strange to see the almost guilt in his eyes as he takes in the cut adorning your lip and the rips in your suit that he had caused. You’re holding his knife loosely in your hand, the blade stained with blood he knows to be your own, but your stance is defensive, not threatening._

 

_You don’t want to hurt him._

 

_He’d mistaken your earlier blows for weak but as he glances between you and Steve, he realizes that you weren’t trying to hurt him._

 

_You were trying to save him._

 

_“You’re my mission,” the Soldier repeats to Steve, much less certain but still convinced enough to growl out the words, and he can see the sadness in your eyes as you glance at the Captain._

 

_“You’re my friend,” Steve sighs, “I’m not going to fight you. Neither of us are.”_

 

_As a sign of surrender, of unwillingness to fight, he watches as you drop his knife and Steve drops his shield. The two of you relax into non-fighting stances and he shakes his head. “You’re my mission,” he repeats for the third time, although he sounds as if he’s unconvinced of the whole idea and only repeating what he’s been told._

 

_“Then finish it,” Steve sighs. “It’s over, Buck. We’re done fighting.”_

 

_Bucky wants this to be the end but he can’t give up. He can’t let you both go. Not again._

 

_Before Steve can so much as blink, Bucky rushes forward and lunges at you. He manages to knock you off balance and takes you over the edge of the platform the three of you had been standing on. He’s surprised to feel you cling to him as you fall through the air but he’s even more surprised to feel himself wrap a protective arm around you as you slice through the surface of the lake. Once beneath the water, he shoves you away from him and shakes his head as if to clear it._

 

_Before you can return to the surface, Steve is hurtling himself off the edge of the platform after the two of you and dragging you both through the water before you can so much as feel the burn from the lack of oxygen. Bucky doesn’t put up nearly as much of a fight as you expected. Instead, he allows Steve to drag you both onto the shore._

 

_Before Bucky can speak, Steve shakes his head. “I’m with ya ‘till the end of the line, pal,” he breathes as he glances at Bucky._

 

_Bucky blinks at Steve’s words before he glances at you, your eyes kind but worried and your hand on Steve’s shoulder. “We want to help you, Bucky,” you promise him, “please, let us.”_

 

You feel a prodding at your shoulder and you weakly raise a hand to bat the annoyance away when you hear a laugh. “Welcome back to the real world,” Doctor Cho smiles as she glances up from re-bandaging your shoulder, “glad you could join us.”

 

“How long?” you question, your throat still dry and your body still aching.

 

“Just a few hours,” she assures you, “but you were in a pretty deep sleep. It’s about five in the morning if you want me to give you something so you can go back to sleep.”

 

“I’m okay,” you refuse quietly, your voice returning just enough for you to feel alright using it. “Is everyone in bed?”

 

“No,” she sighs, “Mr. Stark gave everyone the day off but everyone is working, anyway. He’s in his lab with Dr. Banner. Captain Rogers, Natasha, and Wanda are all with Bucky. Clint, Sam, and Thor are training the new recruits, and Scott is taking Peter back to the city.”

 

“Oh,” you nod, “okay.”

 

“Want me to call anyone? Tell them you’re awake?” she asks as she tapes the bandage in place and turns to look at you fully.

 

“No,” you assure her, “I’m okay. They’ll all come in when they can. Can I have my phone or my laptop or something, though? I’m wide awake now.”

 

“Sure,” she nods as she hands you the cellphone you’re sure Wanda brought by earlier. “I’ll come back and check on you in a bit.”

 

You nod as she exits your room and, although you’re not ready for the team to visit, you know that she’s going to call them and let them know you’re awake. But instead of dwelling on it, you allow yourself to get lost in a game on your phone. You focus on the colors, on the task at hand, and on the mindlessness of it as you try and forget about the night’s adventure.

 

It wasn’t Bucky.

 

If it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have hesitated to lay them out. You would’ve gotten it over with as soon as possible and avoided such injury. But, as does Steve, you always seem to pull your punches when it comes to Bucky.

 

After your first encounter with him, in the heart of Washington D.C., you couldn’t help feeling for him. He was a good guy at one point in time. In Steve’s words, “He wasn’t a perfect soldier, but he was a good man.” 

 

And you knew that nothing he was doing as the Winter Soldier was his fault. You knew that HYDRA was to blame, that he wasn’t a villain. But it seemed damn near impossible to convince anyone other than Steve of that.

 

You weren’t sure if you just liked the stories Steve told you of his childhood best friend or if you felt connected to him on a deeper level but you knew that you needed to help Bucky Barnes. Helping Steve find him was the only logical choice that you had. Helping him return Bucky to his former self, reintegrate him into the real world, and help him shake the time he spent at HYDRA was something that you felt you had to do.

 

And you followed through with that choice.

 

For the past year, since Steve found Bucky in Bucharest, you’ve tried your hardest to help reintegrate Bucky into the world. 

 

At first, it was slow going. Bucky remembered you, remembered the platform that he threw you off of and the scars he left you with, and he didn’t want to be around you. He didn’t want to remind you of the pain that he had caused. But after sitting down with him, assuring him that you didn’t blame him, and begging him to just give you a chance to be his friend, he let his guard down just enough to let you squeeze into his life.

 

What started as small gestures of friendliness turned into a genuine friendship that you truly appreciate. Spending time with Bucky is second to none and every breakfast or movie night that you share, every sleepless night spent by the other’s side, every moment of watching Bucky be better makes you happier than you ever would have imagined.

 

And it’s cliche, a little dangerous, but somewhere along the line, somewhere between a breakfast shared or a night spent wrapped up in one another, you fell for him. You fell for the man that you knew him to be and the man that you knew he’d grow into with time. You fell for the loving, kind soul that hid beneath decades of trauma and you only wish that you could tell him.

 

But he’s not ready for that and neither are you.

 

Especially not now, not after the torture you know that he’s going to put himself through for hurting you.

 

As your thoughts turn to calling, to getting in touch with Bucky somehow, your cell phone begins to vibrate in your hand and you want to cry as you see his name at the top of the screen. With a deep breath, you slide the answer button and ready yourself for a conversation you’re almost dreading.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey,” Bucky breathes, his voice quiet and hesitant, “sorry to call so early.”

 

“It’s okay,” you assure him, just as quietly, “I’m wide awake.”

 

“Doctor Cho told Steve,” he informs you, “I just, uh-“

 

“We should talk about last night,” you cut him off, knowing that he’d dance around the subject if you let him. “I don’t blame you.”

 

“You should,” he sighs and you can tell that he’s running his fingers through his hair. “I hurt you,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly, “again.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” you return strongly, your voice convinced and your tone resolute. “It wasn’t you.”

 

“But it was,” he whispers, “it was me. I remember everyone. All of their faces, every single person I’ve hurt. And you’re there twice. I’m sorry.”

 

“Bucky,” you sigh, unsure of what else to say.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry. I—“ he pauses, clears his throat slightly, “I’m so sorry.”

 

You’re quiet for a moment before you sigh and shift in the bed. “I think we should talk in person, Buck.”

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he informs you after a beat of silence. “What if I hurt you again?”

 

You shake your head although you know he can’t see and swing your legs over the edge of the bed with slight difficulty. “You won’t,” you assure him. “Just meet me in the kitchen okay? It’s time for breakfast.”

 

You don’t give him any room to argue as you end the call and shove your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants. With a huff of exertion, you pull yourself up from the bed and grab the crutches that had been placed nearby before you shuffle out of the room and down the corridor.

 

There are dents in the walls, no doubt from Bucky’s battle with the guards, and you hope fleetingly that they’ll fix them before he can see them. He’s already shaken enough. He doesn’t need to see anymore evidence of what he’s done.

 

You’re not expecting him to beat you to the kitchen but you’re left surprised when you find him sitting at the table, a cup of tea in front of him. He’s quick to pull your chair out for you but he moves as if he’s afraid of your touch when you reach out to squeeze his hand in a thank you. Before you can comment, he nudges the cup of tea toward you and glances at you fully.

 

“I’m okay, Bucky,” you assure him as you watch him wince at the extent of your injuries, “I’ve had worse. I’m alive.”

 

“Because of Steve,” he breathes, “because he stopped me. If he hadn’t gotten there when he did…”

 

“But he did,” you cut him off. “He got there in time and I’m fine. I don’t blame you, Bucky.”

 

“I blame me,” he whispers, his eyes glazing with tears as he shakes his head. “I could’ve killed you.”

 

“But you didn’t.”

 

Bucky glances up at you once more and takes a deep breath before he asks, “Why?”

 

You tilt your head in response to his question and frown. “I don’t understand the question,” you answer him honestly as you reach for the cup of tea.

 

“Why do you trust me so much when I’ve almost killed you twice. Why do you continually show me mercy, even love, when I don’t deserve it? Why do you pull your punches every time we fight?” he asks in a rush of breath, his eyes searching your face.

 

“I trust you because you’ve _almost_ killed me twice, but neither time actually ended in my death. The first time, you stopped yourself. Something inside of you kept you from killing me. Since then, you’ve had my back. The missions we go on, the pranks Sam tries to pull on me, the shit I get from Steve when I mess up on a mission; you’re always there to back me up. To bail me out. I know that if I fall, you’re gonna be there to either catch me or help me back up. That’s why I trust you,” you inform him before you take a sip of your tea.

 

“I show you mercy, love, because you do deserve it. You weren’t the one doing all of the killing. You weren’t the one choosing who lived and who died. You were following orders, you were doing what was programmed of you. It wasn’t your battle to fight because they took all the fight you had left. I show you what you should’ve been given all along, Bucky. You’re a good man, Bucky Barnes. And I want you to know that someone sees that.”

 

With a sigh, you brush your fingers against the table in a nonsensical patter and shake your head. “And I pull my punches because there’s something about you. From the minute we met, I’ve wanted to help you, to get to know you, to be your friend. Steve always spoke so highly of you and then we met. You pushed me off a platform a couple hundred feet in the air and sent me plummeting to my death in a river. But you fell with me and you wrapped yourself around me. If you hadn’t done that, I’d be dead. You pulled your punches that day, I’ve pulled mine ever since.”

 

Bucky is quiet for a moment, taking in the information you’ve just given him, before he shakes his head. “Why do you want to help me?” he questions again, “I don’t get it. I was a stranger and you showed me mercy. I was trying to kill you both and you dropped the knife.”

 

“At first, I was following Steve. I knew he was planning on dropping the shield because he couldn’t kill you. It hurt his heart to even throw a punch at you. But then I saw your eyes. I saw the frustration as you tried to place Steve. I saw the flicker of recognition before it was squashed by the bullshit HYDRA force-fed you. I saw a glimmer of _you_ beneath the Soldier. So, I dropped the knife. I wanted to help you recognize Steve, to help you get back into this world, to help you be Bucky Barnes again. I know you’re never going to be that man on the wall in the Smithsonian again, you’ve been through way too much, but you’re still a good man. You’re still that man, just, with a little extra life experience.”

 

Bucky lifts his head to fully see your face and he can’t help the look of awe that fills his features. He knows that you’ve spent so long trying to help him but he’s never been able to ask why. He’s never been able to understand why you’re so dedicated to helping him, to making sure he’s okay, but now that he knows, he doesn’t know if he can handle you having so much faith in him.

 

“I’m dangerous,” he reminds you quietly.

 

You shrug at his words and lift your head to meet his gaze. “Not all the time,” you hum, “and they’re working on a way to get that shit out of your head. Until they do, I can handle a few more punches.”

 

“I don’t want to fight you ever again,” Bucky breathes with a shake of his head.

 

“And I don’t want to fight you. But if it takes me throwing myself into the ring with the Soldier to keep some asshole with a gun and a happy trigger finger from killing you, well, so be it,” you shrug. “I haven’t been with you since the beginning, Bucky, but I’m with you ‘till the end.”

 

Bucky lets out a breath at your words and shakes his head as he feels tears brimming in his eyes. “You can’t mean that,” he whispers, “I’m a monster.”

 

“We’ve all got skeletons, Buck,” you sigh, “some of our closets are just a little more full than others. But I do mean it. For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. As a friend or as anything else you might need. Just know that I’ll be here.”

 

Bucky is quiet for another long moment as he considers your words. Without a sound, he brings his hand to the table top and slowly reaches across for yours. When his fingers gently intertwine with your own, you send him a small smile and gently squeeze his hand.

 

For a long time, Bucky felt as if his life was over. He felt as if the end was near and he should just give up. But with your fingers intertwined with his and a group of people willing to risk themselves to save him by his side, he knows that this isn’t the end.

 

This is only the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be angstier but apparently I can't do that anymore. Whoops. I wanted to make someone cry but oh well. Next time, I guess.


End file.
